What Remains
by Somewhat Inspired
Summary: The end justifies the means, right?


**A deca-cycle is roughly 3 Earth weeks**

 **A stellar-cycle is roughly 7.5 Earth months**

 **A vorn is roughly 83 Earth years**

* * *

The sound of various mechs and femmes going about their duties and the tapping of pedes against the metal floor filled Ratchet's audio receptors as he walked through the halls. The rebuilt Iacon Science Guild was a large place, with laboratories and observatories within it numbering in the hundreds. Bulkhead and his construction crew did an excellent job. The medic didn't have time to admire the work, however. Once he reached the room he was looking for, he hastily glanced at the datapad clutched in his servo to ensure he was at the correct location before inputting the code to open the door and stepping inside. The laboratory was filled with various machines and other gadgets, one bizarre one of which the scientist occupying the room was busily tinkering with. When he didn't turn around at the sound of the door sliding shut, Ratchet cleared his vents, a habit picked up from the humans that he'd yet to shake. At that, the red mech finally noticed the medic's presence and greeted him with a pleasant smile.

"Ah, Ratchet. I am pleased to see you saw fit to reply to my message punctually."

"You did say it was important, Perceptor. Now what is it you needed me to come to Iacon in person for?"

"Straight to the point as always," The microscope replied not unkindly. "First, however, I must request that not a word about any of what you will see is to be uttered outside of these premises. Is that acceptable?"

"Er…yes, I suppose. Has something happened?"

"In a sense. Come this way, if you would." The medic complied, and the duo exited Perceptor's personal lab and continued down the Guild's expansive corridor. Along the way, the scientist asked, "Am I correct to assume you have been following the reports regarding the Well?"

Ratchet's expression darkened. "Yes," he muttered. "That is correct."

"It's the most peculiar circumstance," The mech continued. "A millennium since being restored and there is nothing to show for it. Though energon continues to flow from it to nourish the land and its inhabitants, it is as if the very core of our planet is barren of any newsparks."

"I am aware."

"We have not seen infertility such as this since the beginning of the War for Cybertron."

"Yes, I noticed."

At the medic's tone, Perceptor paused mid-step and turned towards the other. "I apologize; I am not trying to upset you, Ratchet. I know these last few vorns have been difficult for you, and I will always regret not being present when you lost so much. I cannot return your dear friend to you, but I do believe my team is at least close to developing a solution to our population deficit."

Ratchet perked up at that bit of news. "Truly? You really think you've found a way?"

"Not quite – not entirely, anyhow. We have research to support our findings, but it is still a mere hypothesis. We require someone of your particular field of expertise in order to reliably test our theory."

"Me?" Ratchet sputtered. "I'm just an old medic. You have an entire team consisting of top notch scientists. What do you need me for?"

"Don't be so modest! You are the finest medical provider Cybertron has to offer. Beyond that, it was you who perfected the formula for Synthetic Energon and created a functional Cybertronian base out of primitive technology. If anyone can assist us, it's you."

"Alright, then show me."

"It would be my pleasure. Now, then," Perceptor suddenly seemed rather serious as they walked. "I must remind you of the promise you made to me earlier."

"Why does it matter so much to you?" They arrived at a door at the end of the hall, and Ratchet was quickly ushered inside. There was another security door on the other end.

"Because," The microscope input a secret code, and the heavy metal-clad entrance slid open. "This particular project has not been approved by the Senate."

"What?! Why are you-" The rest of the words died in his vocalizer when the medic's optics landed upon the centerpiece of the laboratory. "By the AllSpark…"

Lying there strapped to a medical berth was none other than the Decepticon surveillance chief, in stasis but alive. But how? Last Ratchet checked, all official records stated Soundwave was deceased, having perished in the Shadowzone where he was left all those stellar-cycles ago. There was simply no way he could have survived in that other dimension for so long. Not without energon. Of course, after the war ended and things settled down, Raf had taken it upon himself to try to locate the mech, if only to have him put in prison with the other 'cons. The kid must have felt guilty for whatever reason. Ratchet never quite understood it; the way he saw it, Raf and the others had done what they needed to do in order to save their home. Soundwave was a threat that needed to be eliminated – such was the way of war. Either way, Raf never managed to find the communications officer, who was eventually pronounced dead considering he couldn't have escaped on his own and no one besides Raf had been searching for him.

…Except that was clearly a faulty line of thinking, if the sight of the very much alive (if a tad beat up and malnourished) TIC was anything to go by.

"That's…How?" Ratchet turned to face Perceptor. " _When?_ "

"Less than a deca-cycle ago, if you can believe it. I theorize that time, in fact, does not move faster in the Shadowzone than for us, but exponentially slower. He was in emergency stasis lock by the time we found him, but it is to our fortune he still functions; he is the perfect model."

"Model? Wait, you don't mean…"

"I do." Perceptor approached the table next to Soundwave where Laserbeak was laid out and hooked up to several medical and scientific instruments. "As you are aware, split sparks are exceedingly rare, with fractured sparks being the absolute rarest variety. In them, fragments of the outermost layer gradually break off and develop into symbionts, small mechanisms resembling minicons that share their carrier's CNA but remain wholly separate life forms. Throughout Cybertron's vast history, scientists and medics alike have tried and failed to find an explanation for this phenomenon, much less replicate it. However, now…"

"Perceptor…"

"No, we can do it." The scientist gently ran a servo along one of Laserbeak's wings. "I searched through the databanks Shockwave abandoned when he left Cybertron. The specs are all there; he must have gotten the same idea back when the Well ceased forming newsparks during the war and scanned Soundwave as one of his symbionts was forming. Granted, his theory isn't without flaws, but it proves that it's possible. Besides…" The younger mech turned to face Ratchet. "Brilliant as he was, Shockwave was no medic, nor am I. You know more about how sparks function than any of us. Charts are fine and dandy, but they do not explain everything. To put it bluntly, if we want to know what makes him tick, we will have to study Soundwave directly. However, I am aware sparks are notoriously sensitive to handling. Ergo, you're the best mech for the job."

"You want me to help you experiment on them." It wasn't a question.

"Yes, that is certainly one way of putting it." Perceptor exhaled from his vents. "Ratchet, please do not misinterpret me. I am taking no joy out of doing this. If I believed there was another solution, know that I would take it over this in an instant. However, as matters stand now, we are a dying species. Over ninety percent of our planet's population was terminated during the course of the war. It won't matter how long-lived our kind is; if we do not find a way to increase our numbers soon, Cybertronians will face extinction."

Ratchet did not respond. Instead, the old medic opted to observe the motionless form on the berth. After decades of entrapment, the Decepticon was a sorry sight indeed. Ratchet didn't remember his armor being quite that faded or his biolights being so dim. He was certain the mech's face screen (or was it just a visor?) hadn't been cracked. It was strange, really. The spymaster used to be so intimidating. But now he just looked small and fragile…Pitiful even. Ratchet couldn't help but be reminded that, Decepticon insignia and deleted emotional protocols or not, Soundwave was still a sparked individual. As was Laserbeak, for that matter. Granted, that little detail hadn't deterred the Autobot from doing whatever he needed to mere centuries ago, but now he's finally experienced peace and witnessed what it can do for mechs he once considered enemies. Besides, after taking the time to look – really _look_ – at the mech on the berth…Primus, how did he not notice it before? Soundwave couldn't be much older than Bumblebee. No wonder Megatron typically kept him in relative safety aboard the Nemesis; his most prized soldier was barely more than a youngling.

With his youth, split spark, and current condition all taken into account, Soundwave's chances of being positively affected by anything Perceptor intended on doing were not looking good. Still, that did not necessarily mean any data they could collect from him would be unusable. Quite the opposite actually. Having a genuine fractured spark to physically study could only benefit research.

Optimus would have never approved. He was too compassionate, too caring for the lives of others (even those of enemies) to allow such a fate to befall anyone. Unfortunately, Ratchet is not Optimus, and the medic witnessed countless deaths over the eons, far too many of which ended up being in vain. He will not let Optimus be among them. One of the Prime's desires had been to preserve what remained of the Cybertronian race; Ratchet could do that.

Therefore, it was only after offering a silent apology to the pair in stasis that Ratchet turned back towards his longtime friend and replied, "I'll do it."

* * *

 **I wrote this instead of sleeping. I think it shows. I'm going to bed now. Thanks for reading and please leave feedback!**

 **Oneshot word count (not including author's notes): 1,680**

 **DISCLAIMER: The Transformers would be a hot mess if I owned them.**


End file.
